In The Ruins
by AlessNox
Summary: After the war, the wizarding world is at peace, but Draco Malfoy is not. Troubled with his thoughts, he forms a secret relationship with Harry Potter, a man even more troubled and conflicted than he is.
1. Chapter 1

I was in my dining room examining the silver clock on the mantle, when I heard rapidly approaching footsteps behind me.

My wand was in my hand in an instant, a killing curse on my lips as I turned to meet...

the smiling face of my beautiful young son.

He jumped at me, tiny fingers grabbing for my waist, and I pulled up short, biting back my words before my fatal instincts could destroy my future.

_"Surprised you father, didn't I!"_ Scorpius said with a smile. _"I sneaked up on you."_

My son, oblivious, held onto me tightly. He laughed, unknowing of the tragedy that almost befell him.

I was frozen in shock.

The war is over.

We live in peace now.

Everywhere witches and wizards are desperate to put the past behind us. Burnt and broken storefronts have been replaced with sparkling new ones. Gringotts has a massive new goblin-wrought dome. Even Hogwarts has been renovated. The only visible evidence of those times being the shiny new monuments proclaiming our _Victory over Darkness_, and the gaps in the banquet tables where the old wizarding families used to sit.

And the graveyards, of course. So many new ones built. Small plaques inside them with the names of those whose bodies were never found.

With Minister Shacklebolt's general amnesty, we are all free. We show our faith in this _New Wizarding Age_ by ignoring the past. So I smile at the tailor whose husband was killed by my aunt, and she smiles back although her eyes are sharper than the pins she stabs me with. I pay her well, and the robes that she makes fit perfectly.

This is wizard culture, wizard civility, wizarding manners. We each do what is expected of us.

But the remnants of the war remain just beneath the surface.

I see it in the coldness of a shopkeeper's eyes, in the way parents pull their children close when we pass on the street.

I feel it. A well of fear and anger deep inside me that I have successfully hidden all these years, until the day when I pulled a wand on my son!

That's when I realized that the world we live in is broken, and I am broken too.

**AUTHORS NOTE:**

**Warning - This is a work in progress. I plan for it to be an adult Draco/Harry fic that I post on AO3, but I am having trouble finding the time and place to write it. Please tell me if you are interested in me continuing this work. Betas and Potter-pickers welcomed!**


	2. Chapter 2

I met my wife, Astoria, in the south of France. She is sweet, intelligent, charming, and of course, purebred. She was largely untouched by the war having spent much of that time touring the East. She is a marvelous hostess and a loving mother. She gave me my son, truly the sweetest and loveliest child ever to hold the name of Malfoy.

I can never tell her what happened.

Because although my wife is beautiful, she is also fragile. A crystal goblet, strong enough for the table, but unable to survive hard use. She knows me as the confident head of Malfoy house. She does not understand that I am also the scared boy who watched in silence as his teacher was casually tortured and killed before dinner. The youth who witnessed horror after horror expecting every moment to be his last. Neither home nor Hogwarts was safe then, and although the mind knows it should be safe now, the body finds it hard to forget.

I lay in bed that night imagining her worried face if I told her the story. How she would fear for the life of our son. And then, she would begin to fear me.

That is why instead of confiding my fears to my wife, I left home in the middle of the night and apparated to the edge of town to drink in a bar called _The Snapped Wand_. It was an old place, opened during the war when people needed a place to drink, but did not want to be seen. A wizard bar where people mostly mind their own business.

I took my vodka to a corner table and downed half of it in one long drink, but before long, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew that I was being watched. I looked up staring into the dark corners of the room, and I saw a pair of green eyes staring back at me. For who else should be in the bar but the great Harry Potter himself.

I stared across the room looking deep into the eyes of my one-time rival. How long I had writhed in jealousy of the_ The hero of Hogwarts_? I was livid that he was popular for doing nothing more than failing to die. I hated him, and I envied him...that is until I rose beyond him, becoming a Death eater and having a new rival in Dumbledore. That was what I had thought as an impressionable and supremely stupid youth. I felt at my highest when I broke his nose in the train carriage certain that I was destined for greatness, and he was destined only for ignominy and death.

But as the days went on, and the pressure mounted, I realized what it truly felt like to have the Dark Lord's eyes focused upon me. It was soul-crushing, terrifying. Everyday I feared that he had lost his patience, and my mother or father had been killed. I would receive reminders at unexpected times: Notes inside my schoolbooks. Messages on my bottle of butterbeer asking 'how soon?', and once a dead mouse on my pillow with a noose around its neck bearing the words, "I'm waiting". I was scared every moment, and that was only one year. Harry Potter had held the wrath of the Dark Lord's attention for his entire life!

It was only as I stood on that mountain of furniture having watched one of my closest friends die in fiendfire that I truly realized the limitations of fame.

And it was only while sitting on the back of Harry Potter's broom, barely escaping the room with our lives, that I realized the true meaning of compassion. But no, it took longer than that. It took me years to understand why Harry Potter had bothered to save me. It wasn't a trade as I had first thought. A debt owed from the time I had not identified him to Bellatrix. It was... an understanding, that human life has value. A fact that the Dark Lord had never learned.

It wasn't until Harry Potter smiled that I realized that I had been looking at him for all of that time. I must have been staring at the man for over a minute. Potter rose to his feet then and walked toward me. I could have fled, but I couldn't stand others thinking that I, Draco Malfoy I was afraid of Harry Potter. I frowned as he stood beside my table, pulled back a chair, and sat down across from me.

Then Potter said, "Are you going to drink that?"

"Of course," I said and downed the rest of my vodka so fast it burned the back of my throat.

"Would you like another?"

"Why would you care?"

"Because I plan to buy you one."

"Why?"

"I'm feeling nostalgic, and you are the only school chum here."

"I didn't come to _The Snapped Wand_ in order to meet people."

"Would you rather we continue staring at each other from across the room? So, do you want that drink or not?"

"Yes," I said, and he climbed to his feet and walked over to the bar.

I considered leaving before he could return, but something inside stopped me. The only place left for me to go was back home, and if there was anyone else who might understand what it felt like to almost kill your son, it would probably be Harry Potter. His life before had been full of danger, pain, and deception. He was always suspicious. Always expecting treachery, usually with good cause. Now he was a family man. By all accounts, he had spawned a veritable brood of children with the Weasley girl. It was likely that something similar had happened to him.

Should I ask?

Would he tell me the truth if I did?

Oh how the world had changed. Before, I would have never expected to be sitting in a bar drinking with my former rival. But he was never really my rival. Potter had only ever had one true rival. One whom he had killed after supposedly coming back from the dead. People now talked of him in the same hushed tones they once reserved for The Dark Lord. They whispered that _the boy who lived_ could never die.

He looked so ordinary in his plain robes and worn brown leather shoes. His days filled with diapers and children's broomsticks. So many loud voices in such a tiny house. No privacy. No wonder he came here. Where else could he go to drink alone?

But... he isn't drinking alone, is he?

Potter walked over to the table with a Vodka in one hand and what looked like fire whiskey in the other. He slid the vodka across the table, and sat back in the chair.

"You haven't drugged this, have you?" I asked.

"If I wanted to hurt you, Malfoy, I could have done it by now. You know I'm a faster duelist than you."

"Are you... really?"

"There's no one faster."

"Except, perhaps, Professor Snape."

"Yes... he was faster, once. Drink up!"

"You first."

He raised the glass to his mouth. I raised my glass letting it hover at the level of my lips as I watched his. He took a sip, lowered his glass and then slid it across the table before reaching out and grabbing mine out of my hand. He took a long drink of my Vodka.

"Ooo, it has some bite! I thought it must be something poncey if you were drinking it."

I frowned, and downed some of his fire whiskey. I coughed. The fumes burned out half of my nasal hairs.

"I haven't seen you here before," Potter said.

"I never came before."

"What's different tonight?"

"What's it to you, Potter?"

"Just curious. It doesn't seem like your kind of place."

"I needed a drink. Why are you here?"

"I needed one too."

I downed my vodka and snapped the glass onto the table. Some faces turned toward us and then quickly turned their gaze away.

Potter's smile grew. He downed his fire whiskey in one long, slow gulp. Then he opened his mouth and breathed out smoke before saying, "Another?"

"I'll get it. Wouldn't want you to have to cut into the children's school funds. Another fire whiskey?"

"Just get me whatever you're having."

"_Billywigs Special Reserve_ costs a bit more than that bottom of the barrel fire whiskey you were drinking, but I don't mind giving to charity."

"I don't need your charity."

"No, you need my company, but I warn you, if you get too drunk to apparate home, I'm leaving you under the table."

Harry guffawed. "If you think that I'll get drunk before you do, you are sadly mistaken, Malfoy."

I laughed as I walked to the counter and ordered a bottle.

I don't remember much else we said or did inside.

What I do remember is the feel of his hands under my robes as we stood in the alley behind the skip, my back against the wall as he wrapped his hands around my penis and tugged. I wrapped my hand around his, while my other hand casually flicked my wand to cast a privacy spell just before he cried out and fell against me, soiling our robes with his sperm. His hand grew limp, and I grabbed myself, my hand flying across my flesh as he clutched onto me. I came then, in a heat that felt like flames were sprouting from my head. Then I leaned back, panting against the wall, and felt relief such as I had not felt in years.

In that moment, as he leaned his messy hair against my neck, his arm drapped across my shoulders, we were just two boys playing in an alley with no fears and no responsibilities. I laughed, and It was only then, when the weight was off of my shoulders, that I realized how much pressure I had been under. For the last few months, no the last several years, I had held myself so tightly. So carefully. I closed my eyes trying to hold on to this memory before it all slipped away, but the door rattled open, and a group of men came out of the bar. They walked the other way without looking back.

Harry pulled away from me then, quickly fastening his clothes. I felt a chill. He straightened his robes, his eyes not meeting mine as he nodded once. Then he walked to the end of the alley and apparated away with a wave of his hand.

More people came out of the bar, but I stayed against the wall, sure that my privacy spell could not be breached. I pulled my robes closed and breathed deeply. The air smelled of alcohol, rubbish, and sex. I knew my wife would notice the moment I entered the house, her nose is very sensitive. So I spelled myself clean and _finited_ the privacy shield before apparating to my business office which had a shower and a change of clothes. I would tell her that I rose early to work on investments. She had no reason to doubt me. I had never lied to her before.

After showering, I lay on the couch in my bathrobe staring at the ceiling. My body still felt loose. I couldn't help but wonder then how may other _'school chums'_ Potter had met in that bar, and how many of them had joined him behind that skip.


	3. Chapter 3

My father, Lucius Malfoy, has had a notable and infamous past. It was he who invited the Dark Lord to stay at Malfoy Manor, and many of the black marks on the name of Malfoy spring from that one act. Except for a brief visit as a young man, I have not returned to that place, and my wife and son have never ever set foot in the grounds. My father, on the other hand, never leaves the property. This has led to some friction between us. My mother was adamant that I bring the family to visit on the occasion of my Father's birthday. I refused, suggesting that father come visit us at Greengrass Mansion, a property built in the 1830s as a wedding gift for Astoria's great, great, great, grandmother. My father insisted that the wards on such a new house were insufficient to keep out enemies or ministry officials who may have changed their mind about the amnesty, and he refused to come.

In an effort to please my mother, I commissioned the creation of something that I had become all too familiar with, a vanishing cabinet.

I gave precise instructions, and the device was done weeks before the event. One of the cabinets was installed in the basement of the Greengrass mansion. The other was delivered to Malfoy Manor. Mother came through on Sunday to dine with us. She supervised the placing of some more wards on the house and then went back to report to Father. Having finally been satisfied with the security arrangements, my father agreed to visit, and see our son for the first time.

Astoria was beside herself with the preparations, spurring the house elves to even more diligence. She spared no expense, preparing his favorite foods. She bought a new suit for Scorpius and he was smartly groomed and standing beside us at the appointed hour.

There was a whirring sound, and the carved eye above the cabinet door clicked open. Mother came out first. She was attired as if for a ball in her green velvet gown and gloves, with a white lace stole around her shoulders. She was wearing her heirloom silver and diamond necklace which had somehow survived the death eater's plundering of the mansion. Father came next in his formal black silk robes with a heavy fox fur cape that was completely unnecessary as we were inside.

I bowed slightly and Astoria bowed more deeply. He gave her barely a glance before looking down at Scorpius. He had perfectly performed his bow and then stood straight with his shoulders back as I had taught him.

"Is this the Malfoy heir?" Father said. "Bit anemic looking. He seems weak."

"I'm not weak, Grandfather," Scorpius said. "I exercise in the yard every day!"

"How dare you speak without being spoken too first, boy. You need to teach the boy manners, Draco. Get a switch to him until he learns how to talk to his elders!"

Mother reached out to touch Father's arm, but Astoria defused the situation by announcing that dinner was prepared. They left the room then, going up the stairs to the dining room. But Scorpius did not follow. He was frowning down at his shoes. He had so looked forward to meeting his Grandfather.

I scooped him up into my arms and said, "Don't mind what he says, Scorpius. He's grumpy and old, and old people often say rude things. Even so, it might be best if you don't say much to Grandfather tonight. All right, my little constellation?"

"All right, father," he said. I kissed his forehead and put him down on the floor. Then we followed the others up.

"Where were you? Dinner is getting cold!" Lucius berated us. Then he went on to insult every dish that my charming wife served him, when he wasn't busy criticizing my home and wizard society in general.

Half way during the cheese course, Father narrowed his eyes at my son.

"Scrawny little thing, isn't he? Why do you have only one son, Draco. This little thing barely looks strong enough to be the heir of Malfoy Manor."

"Father!"

"Now Lucius," Mother said, "You remember Astoria's problem at the hospital."

"Oh yes, I forgot, Complications. That is a curse that we purebreds must bear. The greatness of character is combated by the weakness of our women in childbirth. Narcissa could only birth one child as well. Your younger brother and sister didn't survive, and this one doesn't seem likely to either. What is to become of the distinguished house of Malfoy then?"

"Father!" I rose to my feet. Not only had my father insulted my wife and son, but he had also brought up painful memories to haunt my mother.

"Draco, dear," Astoria said quietly "We mustn't raise our voice in front of Scorpius."

"Why not?" Lucius said. "If you don't raise your voice to your children, they'll never..."

"Scorpius, it's time for you to go to your room now," I said firmly. "Sunflower will be up later with your evening glass of milk. Say goodnight to your grandparents."

"Yes Father," Scorpius said rising to his feet and performing another perfect bow. "Goodnight Grandmother. Grandfather." Then he turned and left the room.

I was still standing, anger coursing through me. But before I could calm myself enough to talk to Father, Astoria asked.

"Would you like some cake? We've had one made special for the occasion."

"No thank you," Mother said rising to her feet and pulling on her shawl. "Long evenings tire me. I think it's time we were getting back home."

Lucius frowned. "I don't think we have to..."

"But dear, It's getting late. What if someone decided to call on Draco."

Suddenly father looked around the room as if there were aurors hiding in the shadows. He rose to his feet.

"You're right. Let's go."

"We'll send the cake over for tomorrow's tea. So good to finally have you over," Astoria said, gracious as ever.

We stood beside the cabinet as father hobbled in. Mother followed with one apologetic glance back at us. There was a whir and a click, as the eye over the cabinet door shut. I reached up and pulled the eyepatch down over the eye. I had given very specific instructions about the construction of these cabinets. When the eye was covered, the cabinets could not be used, and the passageway could only be locked from this side.

Astoria and I went straight upstairs leaving the cleaning for the house elves.

That evening as I lay in bed, I was so angry that I could not sleep. After tossing and turning for an hour or so, Astoria pushed me out of bed saying that if I would not settle down, then I could fume away downstairs. I intended to pace in the library, but I walked past the library door and out of the house, apparating away as soon as my feet hit the front step.

I walked into the bar and there, in what must be his regular table, sat Harry Potter. I stared into those deep green eyes that seemed to glow like the lake through the window of the Slytherin common room. I wanted him. I wanted to take my anger out on him.

I shook my head then, coming to my senses. The time before had been a bit of drunken insanity best forgotten. I would be a fool to instigate such an encounter, especially with Harry Potter! I turned, and left the bar.

I was standing in the alley wondering where to go next, when the door slammed open. I turned drawing my wand, but before my hand was completely out, fingers wrapped around my wrist, and I found myself gazing into Harry Potter's face. Before I could pull free, I felt a tug in the middle of my abdomen as I was apparated away to Merlin knows where.


	4. Chapter 4

When we arrived, I found myself in an even darker and much dirtier alley. I was getting tired of finding myself surrounded by rubbish bins. I was going to say as much when Potter put his hand to his lips to silence me. Then he passed his wand over the both of us and his appearance changed.

I found myself standing beside a young black woman with a large curly afro. She wore a short skirt of green, and red fishnet tights. I was about to ask what was going on, when my hand touched a cheap plastic button on my chest. I looked down to find myself wearing a horrendous plaid muggle suit. Harry Potter had placed a glamour on us both.

I had to hand it to him. It was very effective. I could feel the roughness of the cheap synthetic fabric beneath my fingers, although I knew very well that I was wearing a fine silk-weave gown.

He grabbed my hand pulling me around the corner into a busy muggle street where garrish neon signs announced live shows and inexpensive alcohol. He pulled me into a building with a sign declaring rooms rented by the hour, then he stepped up to a window and pushed some muggle money across the desk.

I realized then what we looked like. I appeared to be a muggle man in my mid forties about to go into a room with what appeared to be an underaged prostitute. Before I could leave or undo the spell, she, that is he, took my hand and pulled me into a grubby elevator.

When the door closed, I was thrust against the walls as Potter pressed his body flush against me. This was strange, because not only did Potter look like a young muggle girl, he felt like one, breasts and all. I could feel myself getting hard, and I could not tell which was more arousing. The woman's body rubbing against my chest, or the knowledge that it was Harry Potter inside of it.

The door opened and she sauntered down the hall, her large rounded buttocks swaying as she walked. Had Potter practiced that walk? What did he do with his free time?

I followed.

She pulled out a key and opened room 302 before turning to smile back at me. When I came within reach, she pushed me inside, closing the door with a thrust of a high-heeled boot.

Once inside, he muttered a few privacy charms, and then waved his wand undoing the glamour and becoming himself again. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed by that, but my erection did not flag at all... until I saw the room.

We were in the dirtiest, dullest room that I had ever had the misfortune to enter. The carpet was greyish-blue with ugly brown stains. The curtains even dirtier. There was a large lumpy bed covered with the filthiest blanket I had ever seen.

"You don't honestly expect me to touch that bed, do you? I'm ten feet away, and I can already feel the bedbugs crawling on my skin."

Harry reached out his wand then and said, "Scourgify!" Dirt and other things passed into his wand. It took much longer than it normally took me to clean my caldron. When he had finished, the blanket was three shades lighter. Even clean, I was still unwilling to touch any part of that bed, so I uttered "Protego supellectilem".

White sheets flew out of my wand tightly covering the mattress, headboard, the side tables, and even the lamps. The muted light of the lamps made the room look slightly more appealing. I sent another sheet, for good measure, to cover the ceiling lest some vermin fall down upon us.

Harry waited for me to finish, then he pushed me back onto the bed and fell down upon me. The pressure of his erection against my abdomen reawakened mine. We groped each other frantically for a moment, he pulling at my clothing so hard that I feared a tear. Unwilling to have my fine suit damaged by his frantic fumbling, I pushed him away long enough to spell off both our clothes. They folded themselves neatly on one of the cloth covered tables.

I'd like to say that I resisted his advances and demanded an explanation for my abduction, but I did not. In the back of my mind, I knew that this was an insane and stupid act, but I was wound up and angry from my father's visit, and I wanted relief. I wanted it hard, and I wanted it now!

What Potter wanted, apparently, was for me to top him. After a few seconds of confusion, I obliged him. At the time, I was so lost in my own thoughts that it took me a few minutes to notice that Harry Potter sounded distressed.

"Potter, are you alright. Does it hurt?"

"More!" he said through clenched teeth.

I pushed again only to stop at another sharp cry.

"Does it hurt?"

"Of course it hurts!" he yelled. "I want it to hurt. Why do you think I chose you in that bar? I want you to push me! To hurt me… till it feels good."

At this point, I'd like to say that I got up and left in disgust. I'd like to say that, but it would be a lie. I did go more slowly, waiting for him to adjust, then I gave him what he wanted. Pounding into him while he cried. Thrusting like a sword as I worked off my aggression and my anger.

There was something so satisfying about having Harry Potter under me. How many times had he bested me at school. Taken honors that should be mine. Cheated my class of their rightful place in the house cup. If only the child I was could see me pounding into him. See how firmly I dominated him.

"Fuck!" I cried spilling inside him in waves. I fell forward and stilled. Then I opened my eyes.

Why had I chosen this position? In this position with his hips pulled up onto my lab, his flushed chest and face laid out below me, I could clearly see the tears streaming from his eyes.

"Potter, Potter, are you okay."

He lifted his hands to his head pulling his hair over his eyes.

"Potter, what do you want?"

"More! … go slowly."

So I did, holding gently to his hips, I focused on his face trying to gauge his pain and his pleasure. When one thrust caused him to moan, I did it again and again, until he sighed.

From this side of an orgasm, my anger and frustration were completely gone. But I could see that something far more complex was going on inside of Harry's mind. He had chosen me, just as I had chosen him... because he was my enemy.

No, not enemy, rival.

In so many ways we were alike. Growing up in the same castle. Vying for the same honors. Dealing with things that the people around us had no way of understanding. At that moment, I understood him, and I was totally invested in his feelings, his pain, and his pleasure.

I lowered his legs and pulled away. Then I lay my head beside his hips, and I opened my mouth surrounding him with my wetness. Harry's cries were definitely of pleasure now. He rolled over pinning me under him, and once he was satisfied, he rolled over to his side, settling down right in the wet spot and breathing deeply.

I looked for something to wipe myself with, but the blankets were tightly wrapped around the furniture. Not only could I not pull up a corner to wipe with, but the sheets had wrapped the drawers closed so that I couldn't open them.

I rose to my feet and went into the tiny lavatory. I washed my hands, and then looked up into the mirror. I washed my face, and then walked out to find my wand so I could conjure up a decent shampoo.

Harry was exactly where he was before. Naked on the white sheets. He looked so vulnerable. I looked down at my one time enemy, and I wondered, not for the first time, why he had come to me?

There must be hundreds of witches and wizards who would love to have sex with the hero of the wizarding world. He was idolized, venerated, almost worshipped. But maybe that was the point. I never saw him as a saint. I only saw the annoying boy who was much too lucky for his own good. Maybe that had been what he needed tonight. Someone he didn't have to impress.

I took my wand and clothes and retired to the bathroom to wash and dress.

When I came out, Harry had rolled over to the dry side of the bed. His chest and thighs were pale, his forearms tanned. The hair on his head was as messy as ever. I considered putting a sickle on the bedside table to complete the story. Instead, I conjured a blanket, and laid it carefully over him before glamoring back on the disguise and heading for the door.

My glamour was not quite as good as his had been. When I touched my chest, I felt the smooth silk of my bespoke robes. I looked back once before opening the door. This had been highly satisfying and enlightening for me, but I would never again let him tempt me into such a dirty tryst again. I am a Malfoy, the Malfoy. I do have standards to uphold. I left the hotel and went back home to my family.


	5. Chapter 5

After I left the hotel room, I went on with my life, and did not think of Potter at all. I did not think of how good it had felt to pound into him while cursing him for all the things he'd done at school. I didn't compare the illusory body of Harry's glamour to the feel of my wife when I held her, and I certainly never, ever again thought of Harry's words,_ "I want you to push me! To hurt me… till it feels good."_

The dinner with my father had reminded me of all of the bad things that the Malfoy name had become known for. It reinvigorated in me a desire to improve the standing of my family, so I talked with Astoria and she had ideas for how we could become a great family in this new age.

We began by increasing tenfold all of our charitable giving. We established a Trust Fund to help widows and orphans. We worked with urban planners to magically reinforce muggle infrastructure that had been cursed by wizards during the war. We also arranged for the building of a new quidditch stadium at Hogwarts. The Board of Governors was so pleased, they proposed that it be named Malfoy stadium! We also made sure to be seen attending every charity event of the season.

It was at the dinner for the _St. Mungos incurable and chronic diseases ward_ where I saw Potter again. He and his wife were holding court with the acolytes who are always attracted by Potter's fame. Ginny was in a green velvet dress which made her red hair stand out like flame. Harry stood beside her ignoring the groupies who attempted to catch his eye. He was wearing dark green dress robes, but he was always able to make even the newest robes look messy. His round glasses were the same style he'd worn in his youth, and his hair was struggling to escape the potion he had attempted to tame it with.

"Is that Harry Potter?" Astoria asked me. I turned to her in surprise, having forgotten that she had never met him.

"Yes, that is he, and his wife Genevra Potter formerly Weasley."

"I've been meaning to make my aquaintance. She is the head of St. Mungo's mental health board."

"Not surprising for a person who was once possessed."

"Possessed?"

"A story for another time, my dear. I would suggest that you make your introductions alone. Although we know each other from school, we were not good friends. She was the seeker for the Gryfinddor quidditch team, and I was seeker for Slytherin."

"Quidditch? You and your sports rivalries! Very well, go mingle by the bar. I will find you later."

I nodded and walked over to order a drink. I had told Astoria a half-truth. I was seeker for Slytherin but not, for the most part, at the same time as Ginny Weasley was. My only true rival in quidditch had been Harry Potter.

I watched as Astoria artfully approached the two. Ginny greeted her with a handshake. Harry was looking at his feet, at the walls, anywhere to avoid another person's gaze. When Astoria introduced herself, Ginny frowned, but Harry looked up sharply like a hound who had just caught scent of a fox. He searched the room until his eyes found mine. I was sipping a vodka martini, shielding my smile behind the glass. He took in a deep breath widening his green eyes while I narrowed mine. I glanced toward the hallway, and then downed the glass, placing it on the counter and turning toward the door. I could feel the pressure of his eyes against my back as I walked through the crowd toward the exit.

I touched my wrist, remembering how he had grabbed me before. I remembered his hands in the alley, and the feel of his body sliding against mine. I stepped into the hallway letting the door close behind me, then I waited. It wasn't long before he pushed through the door and stared back at me, his breathing rapid. He must have rushed through the crowd to get here.

I wanted to touch him, but I heard someone approaching, so I walked down the hall turning at the first corner. I passed through a door to find myself in the teaching wing of the hospital, an area of classrooms that was used primarily during the daytime. I rushed down the hall until I found a door without a window. I pulled the door open, walking into an anatomy classroom. The room was filled with sturdy black topped tables, the walls covered with diagrams, drawings, and charts of human bodies.

I was pushed up against the edge of one of the tables, just as I heard the door click shut. Tanned hands touched the surface of the table on either side of me, and I could feel breath on my neck and the firmness of a cock against my hips, even through two layers of dress robes!

"Is that a wand in your pocket, Potter, or are you just pleased to see me?"

"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

Potter opened his robes and unzipped the trousers he wore under them, then he reached down and lifted my robe. He seemed surprised and pleased to find bare legs beneath them. After leaving school, I had gone back to wearing traditional wizard dress. No trousers. I was wearing only my woven silk undergarments which he rapidly pulled down to my ankles. Then he pushed against me so we were skin to skin.

He slid his hardness between my thighs and rubbed. I was overcome by the smell of him, the firmness of his chest, the feel of his breath against my neck. I closed my eyes to concentrate on the feel of him against me.

His hand wrapped around me, stroking my chest while the other grabbed onto my thigh. He teased the skin of my thigh, approaching but not touching where I wanted him to. I was so ready to feel him. So ready!

I flattened my hands against the table pushing back to give him more access, and he stroked me slowly but firmly. I couldn't stop myself from moaning.

It had been so long. My body craved his touch, and I didn't want to examine the _why_ of it too closely. I just wanted to feel him. I let him press against me, and touch me. I was sweating, and it made him slide more easily between my thighs.

He pressed a hand to my hip and stroked, but when I felt him nudge against my dimple seeking entry, I pulled away. I was having none of that! I would not be dominated that way. It was Potter who came to me. Potter who wanted me, and by Merlin! he would show it.

I turned in his arms pushing him back as I stepped out of my undergarments, then I opened my robes to reveal naked skin and an impressive erection.

Harry was a mess. His robes were in a shambles, his trousers hung open around his hips, his erect cock was dripping on his dress shoes. I smirked. Then I widened my stance and leaned back against the table arching my back so that my cock pointed straight up.

"Go on, Potter. You know what you have to do."

Harry glared at me, his face reddening with anger. I glared back. For a brief moment I thought that he might draw his wand! Instead, he laughed, and dropped down onto his knees.

I had thought that fucking him would be the height of my revenge against him. That it would vindicate years of anger and resentment, and nothing would top it in my memory, but I was wrong.

Nothing I had known could beat the satisfaction of watching the great Harry Potter falling to his knees to suck my cock...that was a sight to cherish for a lifetime. I smiled, preparing to gloat, but then he swallowed me down, and all thoughts left my brain.

I felt... it was indescribable.

I think I spoke.

I am fairly sure I called his name.

I cursed him and blessed him in equal measure.

And when I came, he swallowed it down without shame.

I remember resting against the table, breathing deeply while the world glinted around me with a fine iridescence. I could hear the sound of Harry groaning beside me as he pulled himself to completion. I didn't even mind when his come sprayed across my chest. Or when his hand reached out to smear it across my nipples. I was in a world apart.

I felt as if I was floating.

I was resting on my elbows, leaning back against the table. I turned my head and looked into Harry's bright green eyes. He was half lying on the table, with one hand on my chest. His eyes were watering, threatening to spill over. His brow was furrowed, and I could sense him starting to chastise himself. To take this wonderful feeling, and twist it into something bad.

I was overcome with an emotion that I could not name. I stood, reaching out to pull him to his feet. I rested my hands on his shoulders. He stood before me, one hand on my naked, come-smeared chest. That was when I leaned forward, and kissed him on the lips.

It may seem strange, but although I had _had_ him three times now, we had never before kissed mouth to mouth. I closed my eyes and opened my lips, reaching out with my tongue to caress the inside of this mouth. He kissed me back. His arms shifting to clutch me close.

I don't remember how we ended up lying on the table, but we were there, clasping each other and kissing as if giving each other breath. Then a beep came out of Harry's pocket, and his arms tensed. It was a small sound, but it was enough to cause him to panic. Harry slid off of the table and onto his feet. Then he hurriedly tried to get his robes in order.

I sat up, feet dangling over the edge of the table. "What is that?" I asked.

"A pager. Hermione spelled these so we could send messages like people do with their phones. I just got a message from Ginny."

I didn't understand most of what he was saying, but I did realize how precarious our current situation was. Our wives were in the same building, and we hadn't even remembered to spell the door. If Ginny or Astoria were to come in….

I pulled out my wand and started to clean myself, and the table, and the floor.

Harry had zipped up his trousers, but he still looked like someone well-fucked. Anyone would know what had happened from the state of his hair alone. I smiled at him.

"What?" he said.

"Let me help."

I used a straightening spell to put him in order, aligning his robes and tightening his tie. Then I pulled out a comb and combed his hair myself until it was neat and appropriately roguish. I gave him a final look-over. Then I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips once more. I couldn't help myself.

He looked down at me with molten eyes. When the device beeped again. He stiffened. Then he turned away, opened the door and left the room with a backward glance.

The door shut.

I was breathing rapidly. I closed my eyes and stilled myself.

His face was something I would not soon forget: The molten eyes, the hopelessly mussed hair. I stroked my hand over my chest. His hand had sat there, had stroked there. I touched my lips with a finger and smiled. Then I shook myself awake, trying to put on the mask that I normally wore at such events. It was only when I realized that my undergarments were still under the table, that I was scandalized enough to give a thorough examination of the room to make sure that no evidence was left behind.

When I was dressed, I conjured a mirror and looked at my face and hair. Once satisfied, I left the classroom and walked down the hall and back into the party.

Astoria was standing near the bar. I circled around and approached her from the other side, taking a glass of champagne and sipping it before stepping forward and letting her see me.

"Draco! Where have you been?"

"Call of nature, my love."

"I hope that none of these _hors d'oeuvres_ has disagreed with you."

"No, I'm fine."

"Good, because I have us sitting next to the Bulstrode's. They are the ones to talk to about getting on the hospital board. Are you listening to me?"

"Of course," I said, but I was distracted by Harry, who had whispered into his wife's ear and then left through the front door. I could have sworn that I saw his broom pass by the window. Ginny seemed unconcerned. Leaving early must not be unusual for him.

The rest of the evening passed normally.

That night, I found it hard to sleep. Astoria's kiss on my cheek before going to bed reminded me of other kisses. I had to excuse myself to the guest bedroom where I replayed each moment with Harry in my head until I came. Then, I did it all again.


	6. Chapter 6

Astoria's plan to improve the Malfoy name meant that we were always going out to public events. This required increased spending on clothing necessitating another trip to Diagon Alley.

If any place embodied the new Wizard Britain, it was here. Stores that once looked Victorian had changed with the times, taking up the aesthetics of modern muggle architecture and embracing plate glass, stainless steel, and magically mirrored glass. I felt disoriented walking on the paved stone paths that had once been lined with uneven brick. It felt like some place new. Somewhere that I had never been. And then I saw something so familiar, it made my heart ache.

There between Milford's Magical Yogurts and Cremes, and Billwaters Fine Linens sat an old-fashioned storefront of darkly painted brick and glass with a familiar name etched in gold over the window, it read "Olivanders, Makers of Fine Wands since 382BC".

The wand shop looked exactly the same as it had when I had first entered it at the age of eleven.

"That shop has seen better days," Astoria said glancing at it before walking over to stare at the brightly colored robes in the window of Billwaters. I could not help but disagree. Better Days? The place had seen worse days. Much worse.

I still remembered when the charred remains of this shop was a warning to all that no one (not even a Slytherin) was safe from the Death Eaters. When people rushed past the place, heads turned away, to avoid seeing the cracked and ruined storefront, its wands looted and sold on the black market. For years, the store had been an open wound. A visible sign to all of the scars the war had wrought on the world.

The current building was a fabrication, a re-creation. Identical to my childhood memory, down to the worn paint over the door. Seeing the store remade as it once was hurt much more than seeing it broken had. It was just one more attempt to hide the fact that the war had ever happened.

"Come Draco," Astoria said tugging on my arm.

I resisted, unable to turn my eyes away. It must have taken skill to paint new gold letters and wear them down to the exact level that they had been when I had purchased my first wand. I had thought then that Mr. Ollivander was as old as the shop he worked in. That he would always be there among the old dust covered boxes of wands. I peered through the windows wondering if I could see him. Wondering if he would ever again let me enter?

Then again, Luna Lovegood was rumored to be his new apprentice. I had heard it from my bootmaker. A oily-faced man who had fled England during the war, as so many had. He was a good craftsman but prone to gossip, annoying me by chattering on and on as he fitted my boots. One day, he mentioned her name and then made a crass joke about where Ollivander stored his wand these days. He laughed loudly, stopping only when he crashed to the ground. I had kicked him, chiding him for being so familiar with the Malfoy of Malfoy house. Then I said that he had best hold his tongue if he wanted to keep my business, and he should avoid speaking ill of his betters.

My angry outburst surprised everyone, including myself, but I couldn't stand the thought of cowards like him spreading slander, especially when I knew what Lovegood had gone through. When I knew that the affection she and the wandmaker had for each other had started when they were prisoners in my own family's dungeons.

That was another tale that I had no plans to tell Astoria.

So, when she pulled my arm again saying that we would be late for the fitting, I turned away from the shop, and went along with her.

Later, as we left the shop and headed home, I glimpsed Potter standing in front of the bookstore. Astoria did not recognize him, because he was dressed to be inconspicuous in brown robes with his hood half covering his face. I, however, couldn't help but notice him. A childhood full of dodging hexes and overheard plans had made me very sensitive to his form.

I feigned an errand, motioning her to go ahead while I turned back to follow the man. For one second, he stared at me with one bright green eye. Then he turned and walked into an alley. I rushed across the street chasing after him, but when I arrived, he had gone. As I stood on the spot where I had first spied him standing, I noticed a glint of silver. On the ground beneath my feet, there was a silver sickle. I picked it up and placed it in my pocket.

Once at home, I retired to my study and examined it. I rolled the coin in my hand and ran my thumb across the raised numbers recognizing it immediately for what it was. A message coin.

Zacharias Smith, in his book, Inside Dumbledore's Army had mentioned a coin they had used to communicate. And I had seen Neville Longbottom fingering such a coin in the deserted halls of Hogwarts. I stared closely, comparing the numbers to those on a normal coin until I realized that the numbers spelled out a date and time. If I was correct, it specified a meeting time of 1:15 am the following night.

There was no way Potter had dropped such a coin by chance. He had set a time and date for us to meet. I could guess where the location would be. My heart beat faster just thinking of it. My days had been too regular. I had missed intrigue. I wanted to go, even though I knew I shouldn't.

Time passed slowly, VERY slowly. I was so distracted that my wife was convinced that I was coming down with an illness. She sent me to our room, and I went gladly, eager to get out of her insightful presence so she wouldn't guess that my thoughts were full of rough hands, dark skin, and a deep voice gasping the words "Harder! Harder!" I gladly went to bed early.

Afterward, as I spelled the sheets clean, I began to doubt myself. I have a beautiful wife, and the most adorable and pure son that has ever been born to this evil world. Why was I fantasizing about Harry Potter? Why was I secretly meeting with him, having sex with him, endangering my good name and his by my reckless actions?

I couldn't go.

This had been... I don't think fun was the right word. It had been... something. I had just gone a little crazy, been wound up because of the near accident with my son. It had been a momentary insanity, but I was better now, back to normal now. I turned on my side to sleep, but my eyes strayed to the clock on the mantle. Twenty nine hours and fifteen minutes left.

The next day, Astoria and I worked on our overseas investments. I tried to listen to her talk of her travels in Tibet, but my eyes kept straying toward the clock. Astoria asked me if I was expecting someone, and I, truthfully, said no. But that evening, although I had made up my mind not to go, I couldn't help thinking of Potter's kiss. The way he had looked at me with... _something_ in his eyes, something that I had never seen before. Was it lust... longing? I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow resolving to get some sleep, but I was on my feet when the clock chimed one o'clock, throwing on my robes, and quietly leaving the bedroom. I used a stealth charm so as not to alert the house elves as I let myself out into the courtyard, apparating as soon as the door was closed.

I stood in front of the bar. My watch read 1:14am.

The street was dark, The lamplights predictably were not working, and the dingy yellow sign shaped like a rod breaking in two had a faulty spell that caused it to flicker. I stepped forward, walking through the door exactly on time.

The tavern was dark, even compared to the night outside. The dim circles of light from the gas lamps cast everyone's face in shadow. I stood beside the doorway letting my eyes adjust. Then I saw bright green eyes focused on mine.

Potter sat at the table I had first seen him at. There was a bottle of fine Vodka on the table in front of him.

I walked forward and slammed the silver sickle on the table glaring at him in order to hide the fact that being this close to him made me shiver.

"You can keep your money," he said. "I've already paid for the bottle." He conjured a glass and poured a shot pushing it across the table toward me.

"Sit," he said pouring himself a drink, his eyes narrowing a bit in pleasure at the taste.

I stood frozen, hand on the table. I thought about leaving, ignoring the glass and the coin and going home to my wife. Instead, I pulled out the chair and sat down sliding the coin back into my robes, and pulling the glass toward me.

His stern lips did not change, but his eyes glittered.

I looked him over. Although his robes were the same old unfashionable ones he always wore, he seemed to have made an effort to straighten his clothes and tame his hair. Had the great Harry Potter actually learned something from me?

I took a long sip of the glass in front of me, and relaxed into a smile.

Potter stared.

I returned his gaze.

He leaned forward to pour us both another drink while muttering a spell, his sleeve concealing the motion of his wand.

"What was that?" I asked quietly, my glass below my lips.

"_Muffliato_."

"What?"

"A spell to keep us from being overheard."

"Never heard of it."

"Really? I'm surprised. I would have expected Death Eaters to know such spells."

"Why would they? When Death Eaters were overheard, they just killed the people who heard them."

"Is that what you'd do?"

"I am not a Death Eater... Not anymore."

"Good," Harry said. "I wouldn't want to have to kill you."

I looked up at him wondering if this was his attempt at a joke.

"Haven't you heard, Potter. This is a great new era! It's all forgive and forget."

"Some things are impossible to forget. We've caught most of the Death Eaters, with a few exceptions."

I knew he was referring to my father, but I took a sip and ignored him.

"You get more like Mad Eye Moody every day, Potter."

"I take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't meant as one."

I stared at his lips which were bent into a scowl. I couldn't understand how it was possible to be so irritated at, and so turned on by the same person.

He downed his drink and poured us both another.

"There's one thing I don't understand, Potter. If you're the damned _Hero of Hogwarts_ why are you here every night drinking alone? I'd figure your groupies would be begging to sit at your table while those auror friends of yours toasted your victories."

"Who says they aren't?"

"The fact that you're here in the_ Wand_. Not a place people come to celebrate."

"I can't drink with them," Harry spat, "I make them nervous."

"Why? Are they afraid of you?"

"Worse. They admire me."

I laughed. "You? Admired? If they knew what a loser you were in school... "

"But they don't know, do they? To them, I'm just _The Great Harry Potter_. The man who killed Lord Voldemort. Do you know I'm on a trading card?"

"I am aware. I do have a son."

"I have sons too. They ask me how I did it. How can I tell them that I dueled over the bodies of my schoolmates until I finally killed the man who had terrorized my childhood and killed my parents? I don't want any of that to touch them. I don't even want them to hear about it. Has your son ever asked you what you did during the war?"

"No."

"He will, one day," Harry downed the rest of his glass and poured another. The bottle was already half-gone.

Talk of the war made the room seem colder. I changed the subject.

"What does the owner of this place think of you coming here? I don't suppose that an auror drinking here every night is good for the kind of business they do here."

"She's never asked me to leave. Besides, I'm off duty now."

"Is an auror ever off duty?"

Harry shrugged.

"The way you drink... It's reckless! The war may be over, but not everyone is happy with the current state of things. There are people out there who would love to see you dead. And yet you come here alone. Are you trying to get attacked, Potter?"

"Let them try," Harry said pulling out his wand in a quick motion that made the whole room go silent. He put his wand away then, and heads turned cautiously back to their own business.

Harry lifted the bottle to pour me another shot, but I put my hand over the glass.

"I've had enough," I said rising to my feet, disgusted with his self-destructive behavior.

"Then let's get out of here," he said rising to his feet as well. He waved his wand over the table making the bottle and glasses disappear. Then he strode to the door, picking up his broom at the exit.

Outside, Harry straddled the broom motioning for me to join him. I had no intention to do such an undignified thing, but when I heard the sound of the door opening again, I jumped on the back and he flew us away at a speed that reminded me that he had been a seeker. I held tightly to his waist, my robes flapping in the wind as we soared above the city lights. It had been a long time since I had flown. It felt so good to feel the cold wind rushing against my face again.

I could see the lights of the city center far ahead but Harry steered us toward a darker place, a park with tall trees and manicured lawns, we flew over a dark iron fence. The gate was shut and locked, We landed in a clearing beside a duck pond.

I climbed off of the broom and looked around. This place was isolated, and quite beautiful.

The waning moon's image rippled on the surface of the water. I could hear the waves lapping against the shore, and the sound of a broom flopping onto the grass. I turned, and found myself enveloped in his strong arms. His lips devouring mine. He pushed my back against a tree his knee parting my thighs, as his left hand reached out to squeeze my crotch. I was lost. Why had I doubted coming when I knew that this was waiting. I pulled him closer only to feel him go still. I watched him reach into his sleeve and pull out his wand.

"What?" I whispered, but he spun around casting a spell behind us. There was a loud crack, and someone fell to the ground. We were being watched!

We rushed across the field and looked down at the unconscious body of a young woman. Her broom lay beside her, and her other hand held a tablet and a pen that was still in the process of writing.

I lifted the pad and read...

_SUPER SEX SHOCKER! _

_Hogwart's hero, Harry Potter snogs Philantrapist and former Death Eater Draco Malfoy in secluded park. After consuming several drinks at the Snapped Wand, a disreputable London pub, the two retired to a muggle park to….._

Potter turned the body over so that we could see the woman's face. I knew her. She was Holly Hardwart of the Daily Prophet, rumored to be the next Rita Skeeter. Neither love nor money would stop her from selling her scoop, and when she did, the name of Malfoy would be ruined.


End file.
